Your Hand In Mine
by Chocolate Muggle
Summary: Things got bad when my mother caught my father cheating on her. I lost my mother and my brother in terms of relationship. My father lost his position as a captain. My status as a noble is gone. My father was accused of treason, leaving by myself. I was then accused of attempted murder, shipped off to a ship for juveniles. There was where I met a boy with beautiful hazel eyes.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Your Hand In Mine

Summary: Things started to get worse when my mother caught my father with another woman. I lost my mother and my older brother in terms of relationship. My father lost his position as a captain. My status as a noble is threatened. Then, my father was supposedly accused of treason, leaving me to fend for myself. The next thing I knew, I was accused of attempted murder, sending me off to a ship for juveniles. That was when I met a younger boy with beautiful hazel eyes.

A/N: Hello! I know I have another fanfiction to update, but I really wanted to write this along with another idea of mine(but that's a completely different thing). So anyways, this one here is inspired by a book titled 'The Curse of The Jolly Stone Trilogy : The Convicts'. So yeah, I used the idea, and the concept.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to our beloved Himapapa, and the book belongs to Iain Lawrence.

A/N(2): Juan is supposedly Portugal.

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**Chapter 1: Days I Hated**

I was eight and young when my parents started arguing. At first, it was merely a verbal fight that eventually ended with them forgiving each other in their own bitter tones. I used to think that it was because they didn't want to make themselves look like bad parents in front of their children. I didn't know what they were arguing about back then. My older brother, Juan would bring me away into our shared bedroom, put me into bed, then read me a story. I wondered if he knew what they were arguing about. As I said, I was young then.

It meant that I was just a mere stupid and oblivious child back then.

I was nine when it got physical. My parents never touched me or Juan. It's a fight between only them. Sometimes, I would watch my father slap my mother only to stomp outside and never come back home for the night but to come back early in the morning, reeking of alcohol and a horrible mix of fragrance. I didn't know what he did back then. I didn't understand the meaning of 'adultery'. I asked Juan once about it, he just shook his head. My parents no longer shared the same bed, no longer exchanged loving glances, no longer exchanged words of endearment and love. Worse, they don't forgive each other anymore. Not even in front of Juan and I.

I didn't understand the concept of how love could easily dissipate into nothing but a pile of crumbling ash.

I was ten when they filed for divorce. They seemed satisfied with it. Satisfied that they no longer had to look at each other's faces. I still didn't know what was it that happened that caused all this of what I called a 'misfortune' to my family. Juan looked like he did though, but he never told me. He just shook his head and ruffled mine. "You'll understand." He said. My mother had the custody of my older brother and I, but our father fought through the case, therefore, they ended up having one child each. My mother had Juan, my father had me.

I could only see my brother's silhouette as we were dragged apart.

It was roughly three months after that had I found out about what my father did that my mother hated him so. I knew the duration of days because I kept an advent calendar to keep track of days as I expected to see Juan again. Apparently, my father worked as a privateer.

Now let me explain what a privateer is in case you don't know. A privateer is a private person or ship that is authorized by the government to attack foreign marine ships during wartime. They're like pirates, only that they are legalized to raid and plunder other ships.

My father was one of the best privateers the nation had. My mother knew of his profession. Actually, they met during one of his duties. You see, my mother was a housekeeper. They fell in love when he found my mother tied up in the hull of an opponent's ship. That was what my father told me though. I needed the side of my mother's story to fully grasp the idea.

It had broken my mother's heart one day when she saw my father with another woman. Now, it wasn't just some sort of accidental meeting, oh no. She saw my father passionately kissing another woman, as if said woman was his wife. "_Antonio, my dear Antonio._" My mother wept, her face buried in her hands as I comforted her of what I didn't know had happened. It broke Juan and I to see her like that. Now I know who to blame.

As the child that my father won the custody of, I spent my time on his ship. As much as I hated him, I loved his ship, and gradually, I knew of his wealth and treasures. He had pampered me into a brat. I knew that I used to be kind, caring, jovial, and naïve, but with all the things he had showered, and presented to me after each travel he did, I became arrogant, greedy, egoistical, and snobbish.

I was the nicest person a noble could meet, yes. But I was also the same person who would remind the lower society of their status and pathetic lives. If calling them vagabonds wouldn't satisfy me enough, I would call them tramps. Nobody could stop me from doing so. It was a normal occurrence among the people. Richer people would trample the poorer ones.

"Antonio, how was your school today? " My father would ask with a voice that aimed to act concern for a child but his attention was elsewhere.

The other thing I'm greedy and selfish about was attention.

"School's fine. Gilbert and Francis were sent to principal though," I would say with a monotone voice. Gilbert and Francis were my close friends. They were much more worse than I am though. They were arrogant and snobbish all the time. They were also narcissistic. They would remind me that I was poorer than they were. Honestly, I had no idea how I could compromise with them. The school I went to was a private school. It was supposedly better than the public schools they had here, but from what I have seen so far, it was just the same, only that it has richer students. The principal was an old man who couldn't even go around without a wheelchair. But in contrast to my horrible attitude, I was one of the best and smartest student they had.

Then when I turned fourteen, everything just drastically changed for the worst.

My father was accused of committing treason against the nation. He was ripped off of his authority. We lost our riches as we tried to pay off the debts we had over time. All we were left with us were our most valuable possessions, and our house. If I thought that my father had long forgotten about my mother, I was wrong. He kept his wedding ring around his ring finger. I have never seen him taking it off honestly. That was when I hoped for the best that I get to see Juan and my mother again.

But soon enough, we had to sell our possessions one by one to maintain the house. We still kept the most expensive ones as we moved to a smaller and dirtier house. I hated that place. There were roaches everywhere, and it reeked of sewage water.

I was still able to attend the same school, just barely paying the fee. Surprisingly though, none of the students seemed to know of my status. They avoided me as usual, worried that I may triumph over them like I usually did. That just proved that they were only attentive when it comes to their own life. The teachers didn't seem to care as they proceeded onto the lesson even if I insulted them.

It was three months later that my life was destroyed and gone.

My father hated the mayor of the town. I, too, hated him. He was an Englishman who had a son just about a year older than I am. The townspeople calls him Mr. Kirkland, and his son's name is Arthur Kirkland. Unlike me, his son was very open-minded and friendly, quite a joy to the town. I loathed his son the moment I met him.

Mr. Kirkland happened to bear hostile feelings towards my father. Only when it comes to business, had he became the friendly person people outside our conflict knew.

He came to our small house one evening. I was at the doorstep of my house as I came back from school. As I entered, I overheard them. It hurt me so much when I knew of what Mr. Kirkland was being fussy about that my father defended strongly and objected so defiantly.

Mr. Kirkland had offered a position as the captain of an old ship to my father. You see, this ship is no ordinary ship. It used to be a ship to carry slaves around the world, ready for being sold to the nobles of other nations. That was not what made my father and I very mad though. It was the fact that he, Mr. Kirkland, was the one who offered. My father felt mocked while I felt offended because he was mocking my father.

Yes, I hated my father for committing adultery and breaking the heart of his ex-wife. But I still had the love of a son for my father. I was proud of him. Proud of his achievements. Proud of what he did as a captain, a sailor, and a father. But not a husband.

"Antonio, come here." My father said sternly as he noticed me from the doorframe. I rushed over, dropping my bag to the floor as I went up to him and hugged his waist from the side. "Good evening, father. Hello, Mr. Kirkland." Oh how I wished to be able to spit his name out, but sadly, I had to put up a good face to gain his favour.

"Hello there, son." I hated how he called me that. Only my father and mother could call me that. God forbid him to say so, please. He went ahead and ruffled my hair as if I had no hatred for him. "Leave, Kirkland. Just because I lost my prideful treasure, doesn't mean you can waltz into here and mock me." My father ordered. Never had I heard him say something like that. He had his hand on my back, reassuring my fears.

"I'll take my leave then. But do think about the offer. I'll appreciate it greatly." He said as he bowed and tipped his fedora. He got up, and I had the urge to burn his trench coat so that it could engulf him in flames. I laughed to myself in sadistic satisfaction. I got disappointed when the article didn't burn when he stepped out and into his carriage.

My father sighed. He knelt down, hands on my shoulders and his eyes were dead locked into mine. I swore I was frightened as he did so. You see, he only ever did so whenever either Juan or I got into trouble, and he would lecture us before sending us outside to stand under whatever the weather was at the moment for discipline.

"Antonio, I assure you that I won't give in to his offer. Don't be afraid now, son." He told me with a reassuring smile. Afraid? Afraid of him accepting what the wretched man who goes by the name of Kirkland has to offer? No. I acknowledged that I was afraid. But I wasn't afraid of my father accepting the offer. I was afraid that my family's status would drop to the point that we would be called peasants. My pride would be gone, and so would my status in the better society.

However, I just nodded. With that, he patted my back then removed his ring when I told him the ring hurt me. He was reluctant to slip it off, but I was the only one left in his family, so I figured that he would care for me more than he cared for his love.

The week passed by with only a bit of taunts. Some mails were sent to our house, most of them were of debts. But my father dealt with them easily, having most of our possessions traded for cash. Thankfully for us, we still had more of them, and that one valued more than what gold were back then.

We dealt with the tension with a bit of fights. But what happened the day after a week's end was unexpected.

There they were, a troop of policemen and a pack of trained canines were standing on our front porch.

And they took my father away.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Whoa. The response was good. Even better than my second fanfiction on . Sorry no Lovino yet. Not in a few more chapters anyway. But here's the chapter. Just so you know, all of these no-Lovino chapters are relevant to the story line. Do continue to support this fanfiction until the end.

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**Chapter 2: Crimes, Prisons, and Juvenile Me**

As a student, my school had organized plenty of school field trips, most of which, were to the prison. I loathed that place. It reeks of sewage water, unfiltered and clogged. There were too many rodents too, if I remember. I had no idea on how a person could last years there. Plus, the prisoners looked mean and awful, so I made note of not to break the law. Mr. Kirkland made it hard for me but I handled it.

I was held back by some men when I charged at them to release my father. They forcefully brought him away, some were pinning me down with their heavy bodies. I struggled but I failed. After my father had been sent to the prison as they were reported by, they released me. I was then left alone in the empty house.

Night had always been the worst for me. I had feared the dark for some time but I managed as Juan would come into my room and comfort me as I sleep, singing lullabies and making empty promises to reassure me. It was my father who did so after my parents divorced. Now, there was no one and I had to endure it by myself.

Whenever a rat or some other creature ran past the floorboards, it creaked. Whenever the wind whistled through the gap of the window, I tense. Whenever the branches of the old and dying tree scratched my window, it created an ear splitting sound that gave me fear.

Needless to say, my night was awful. I was only asleep when rain poured and it lulled me to sleep.

The next day was not much of a help either. It was a Sunday. The higher society brought their families to attend Church services, and those who are not of Christianity or of the status, they were working at the bazaar. I was not one to attend Church nor the bazaar, but I needed a miracle and food. There was nothing inside the fridge and my father was the one who brought food to the table.

Before sunrise, I served myself the leftover milk and bread. It was not much but it will suffice. Then I left my house, locking it even though there would be no one who would suspect such a house would have valuables. As much as I wanted to pawn off the valuables we own, it was impossible for me because I do not know any shop that I could trust. That and no one would believe that such a child as me could own such things. Might as well they accuse me of stealing them.

I was dressed in my father's old coat, my brother's farewell scarf and boots. My mother left some woolen gloves so I wore them, hoping to have some warmth. The season was not a problem. Hell, I don't think anyone would ever think that the season would change. England rains almost every time. A good day means it wasn't raining but that doesn't necessarily mean it would be sun and dry air. Now that I think of it, I did not bring an umbrella.

Oh well, no one is at home. Therefore, I could just stay outside and find shelter from the rain.

I walked in a regular pace, hands dug deep in my pockets, a mist of white appeared as I breathed. I had a worn out sling bag filled with my notebook and pencil only. They were my comfort items given by my mother. I had a graphic imagination system that caused me to imagine the worst and haunt me. It was a therapeutic thing. I would write anything that scared me into it and consider it gone.

I stepped into the right hidden lane. This was the way to the black market. I walked through it, ignoring the howls and begging eyes of the poor and ugly. At one point, someone had grabbed my hand with their skinny hands, begging for food. I shook them off harshly, telling them to not bother me or else I would tell the authorities about them. It seemed to work. I passed without fear.

I came upon a stairwell that lead to the ground below. Curious, I walked on it, my hand gripping the rail tightly. It was rusty, so it left stains and flakes of paint on my gloves. Along the way, rats were running up and down to the point it annoyed me and I kicked them out of my way. I reached the bottom step only to have my boots stepping into mud.

I grimaced at the muddy feeling that scrunched as my boots sunk in deeper. I walked cautiously in it, almost slipping out of my boots then ragging them forward. The muddy area doesn't seem to end. It was as if I was at the brink of the sea and near the dock, where I might as well be.

There was an old man in front of me, I noticed as the fog created a silhouette. He was hunched up, hands fishing in the mud furiously. I thought he'd see me by now since I was closer to him, but I knew he was blind when I waved in front of him anonymously. But he was not deaf. He heard me walking.

"Who are you? Tell me who you are and what are you doing in my place, eh?" He had a gruff voice. I did not answer, keeping myself anonymous. But that seemed to provoke him more. "Who are you!" He raised his voice, shocking me as I fell into the mud unceremoniously. "So there is someone. Tell me who you are. Boy or girl? But I don't think a lady would ever come here, eh."

He disgusted me. He had unkempt hair, a tangled beard and his teeth were black and rotten. He had gloves on his hands but the fingers were frayed. I kept quiet o matter what. I could not find my voice. I stayed as I was.

He grumbled something unintelligent then went back to his search, assuming I had left. So I stood up and as curious as I was, I wanted to search for something inside the mud, hoping to find something that I could sell for food. I kept quiet of course. I carefully search and fished in the mud, making not too many sounds to catch the old man's attention.

For about an hour or so, there was nothing either of us found. Then that was when I touch something sharp and angled. I tried to grab the object in the mud but all I did was miss and grab a few weeds and unnecessary things. I threw them away in the other direction but sadly, I forgot for a fact that I was not alone.

The old man whipped his head towards me. He started looking in various directions as if to look for the source of the splash. I warily sunk my hands in the mud, successfully lifting the thing. I held it up high but the sun was clouded over, so I was not sure what it was that I held. I spat on it, wiping it with my clothes. I saw a glint as I turned it. I took out a bottle of water and poured the content on it.

I was satisfied.

It was a rock, yes. But what sort of rock? A diamond, I bet.

I knocked my knuckle against it. I bit it. Yes, it was no fake object. I smiled in glee, completely forgetting about the blind old man. I felt something tugging at my collar. I was then pulled back, tripping myself then stumbled, landing ungracefully into the mud. I kept the diamond in my hands.

"Still here, eh? Look. This is my area. Not yours. Out with you! Leave your treasure behind, boy." He sneered. Leave my treasure behind? Why? It's mine. So why should I follow? I tucked the diamond inside my coat, tying the ropes together to keep it in place and to not let the diamond slip out.

"Stubborn ass." He snarled. He pushed me and forced me to sink in the mud. I choked as the mud began to flow into my mouth. Disgusting. "Let go of me!" I screamed, pushing him hard and forcing myself to stand. I felt for the diamond and sighed when it was still there. If it was lost, I had no idea what I would do next.

"This is my place! Whatever is in here is mine! Get out! Get out I say!" He yelled. He balanced himself, steadily walking at me already. He already knew where I stood, so any movements could detect my next way. I stood there frozen. Not sure what to do. Do I run or do I try to compromise with him? Do I stay quiet or do I tell him of my cause?

Sadly, he did not give me the chance to explain nor choose.

He aimed for my neck. Hands were tightly gripping my neck, squeezing the air out of me slowly with force. I felt the nails digging in deeper as I struggled. I nearly lost my breath. I knew he cloud not see so I swung my foot at him, kicking his shin backward and making him lose his stand. It worked.

He stood up again as soon as I regained myself. I stepped back, hands were now clutching for the diamond beneath the coat tightly. "Why you little twit. I'll show you your place! Hand it over to me! It's mine!" He lunged forward but I dodged. He fell into the mud as it splashed around my worn out pants.

"How is it yours? I found it!" I retorted. I was now stepping back cautiously. He stood up again but I did not make it in time. He had already grabbed my foot. He pulled it, causing me to fall with a thud. I felt light-headed and I suspected a concussion may occur. I would not give in to the concussion. He pinned me below him, arms forcefully placed deep in the ground. The mud reached up to the tip of my nose, so I clamped my mouth shut, jerking my head upwards for air.

"Feisty, aren't you?" He frowned. He began choking me again. But I would not let him win. I kicked his groin, causing him to topple sideways in pain. I was the one who pinned him now. The old man was breathing hard, but I did not care. All I cared for was the diamond and my own safety.

So I did what I first thought to do. Grab the broken bottle that I had found earlier, and smash it onto the man. The glass shattered, leaving a gash and a couple of wounds and grazes. Blood was flowing as soon as it shattered. The old man fell limp, body dropping inside the mud as if he were dead. I panted. Was I safe? I assumed so. Was the diamond still there? Yes, it was.

Leaving the man in the mud as lifeless as he was, I ran back upstairs, caring not for a thing in my path. All I wanted was my mother's cradle in her arms, my father's words of comfort, and my brother's reassurance that what I had done was just a nightmare or something that I would had never done in my life.

I, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, may have been a juvenile killer with a loot hidden beneath my coat. What was I going to do? I was the one who would know.

I ran into an abandoned alleyway, that is what my instincts had told me not to do but I did it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a dark alleyway around the corner. Two steps straight, and a right turn, that was where it was. Barren, dark, cold, and the smell of rot lingering around.

I wondered for a moment. Were there any beggars in this area? Most probably so. How could it not? It was dark, isolated, and it smelt of rotten food. I cringed at the thought. I had to pinch my nose to block out the smell. I could still smell it though.

"I see you've made your way to here!" I heard a cheerful voice say. I whipped my head around in case it was any of those nosy adults who think that all children should be staying at home, studying or doing house chores that could benefit the family. Bullshit, I say.

"Who are you?" I asked politely. I could barely see her or his face. All I could see was a black silhouette of shoulder length hair that is most probably blonde if it was not for the light. I could see a hint of green cloth as well, but that might be my eyes playing a trick on me.

"Hold on, you might not be able to see…" It had a feminine voice. It sounded mature so I figured that it might as well be a girl. A light was ignited and the flame was dancing until she took out a lamp and lit it.

I could see her face now. She had a Cheshire-like smile and a very feminine face. Like a doll, I suppose. Fragile, docile, timid, and easily-crushed. But the way she looked made me think otherwise.

She came closer to me, her face leaning in as she brought the lamp to my own. She seemed to be inspecting my face. Was there something on it? I consciously touched my cheeks, in case that I still had mud on my cheeks. I felt the diamond dangling inside my pocket. There must be a hole in there, it almost felt like it was going to fall out.

"Hmm. What brings you here? You don't look like someone from the lower society." She asked. There was not a hint or trace of venom as she spoke. But I digressed.

"I ran here. Don't ask why." I looked around. There were now dim lights inside the alleyway. There were shadows on the walls, showing intimidating big build images. But then again, they were just shadows.

"Oh okay. Do you want to stay here for a while? I suspect that it might rain, so it'll be a good choice if you do." She offered. I accepted anyway. What harm was there in accepting shelter from someone who might be of the same luck?

And it was a rule for men in my family that no woman can be denied. They can only be denied if it goes beyond natural desires.

I had no idea what it meant but I think it would sort of fit this situation.

She lead me deeper into the alleyway. As we got deeper, the dim lights were getting brighter. I assumed that either the people who brought the dim lights earlier were walking closer to us or we're walking closer to them.

But I digressed.

"Daan! We've got company!" She cupped her hands and shouted. The walls around us echoed her voice. I could hear a very unenthusiastic grunt.

"Who? It better not be a cat…"

I could see him now. Spiky blonde hair, a scar on his forehead, a scarf and – is that a pipe?

"No no no! I found him running away from the swamp. You know, the one with the grumpy old man? Yeah, I offered him shelter!" She said cheerfully.

"Your name?" He, I presume his name was Daan as his sister(?) called him so, asked.

"Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." I firmly stated like how I said during the first day of school every year.

"There's no need to tell me your full name. It's useless here. Anyway, make yourself at home. If this can be considered a home, that is.." He eyed his surroundings warily. Was he always like that around new people?

"I'm very sure it can. It's no different that my old home. In fact, the only difference is that this is much better." I told him. It's the truth. Home was where no one would wait for me. No one would give me a glass of drink anymore after I went back from school. The home I had was lost 3 months ago.

"Oh okay." He shrugged. Simple-minded man. Too simple sadly.

"Since Daan says it's alright, want some soup? We made some earlier. No exactly we, but I helped! By the way, the name's Emma. From Belgium. Daan's my half-brother but he's older than me. He's from The Netherlands." Emma said. It's wonder why she doesn't have a Belgian accent.

"I told you my name. But I haven't told you where I'm from. Parents are from Spain. Born and raised in England. My big brother and I, that is." I explained to her, careful not to tell her any more than necessary.

"Hmm." She hummed in acknowledgement.

She lead me to the small fire in the back of the alleyway. It was warm enough for the three of us. England has always been cold. When they say it's a nice day out, it means that it's not raining. I heard a phrase once, if a month has 32 days, hell, it'll be bloody raining!

Never understood that though.

"So, why did you ran away from the swamp?" Emma asked me. She cocked her head to the side. Was that a girl thing? Tilting their head to appear presumably cute? It was strange, really.

I immediately felt for my diamond. I sighed in relief when it was still there. I tried to think of an excuse. "Umm.. let's just say that the old man there found me and chased me away." Great, what a stupid excuse. But it's reasonable, right?

"Right." Daan said in sarcasm. What is wrong with this person? Must he be rude to every new person he meets?

"Positive." I snapped back at him. That was a first. I never snapped at anyone before if I could recall.

"Hey now, don't start fighting!" Emma intervened. She pushed us both apart, successfully stopping us from growling at each other.

"He started it." Daan accused me.

"Excuse me? You were the one who didn't believe my reason!" And he didn't have to because it was a lie. He was the right one, but I can't let my pride get crushed just because of a petty lie.

"That's enough you two. Hurry up and eat. We've got places to be tomorrow." Emma said, clapping her hands. Her Cheshire-like smile tugged at her lips. Again, if I didn't feel so insecure in this position, I would find her adorable.

"Places, like where?" I asked her in curiosity. I needed to go to the pawnshop for goodness sake. And she spoke as if I was supposed to be involved with them!

"To the market. There's lots of rich people there. We can make lots of loot if we can be there." She said, rubbing her palms together.

Ah, so these people are thieves. Figures. Stealing from the rich to benefit the poor who are themselves. Simple-minded but smart. But still, not smart enough.

"Yes, you have to follow us. You know us and our names, so we are technically accomplices." Daan said, crossing his arms. I'm very sure he is not satisfied with my being with them during their loot collecting.

"Don't be like that! He might help us to get a lot you know. Who knows if he's lucky?" Emma retorted, sticking out her tongue at her brother.

I sighed. Lucky? I'll be lucky if my father doesn't know what I'll be doing tomorrow. Especially with a bunch of teenage thieves.

But again, I digressed as it would not benefit me in either way.

Because I have no other choice to find a safe way to the market, a place where people would pay lots for a valuable rock.

**xXx**

When night came, Emma briefed me about the places we're going to go to, and what kind of people we should expect and find.

"Go for the ones who don't wear over the top clothing. They are just boasters. The ones that are right are those who wear plain but demanding style. It's alright if you don't understand. You will once you see them." She said.

She scooted closer to me, leaning on my shoulder. I could've sworn that this girl is overly affectionate but I digress about the matter.

"Hey, your name is Antonio right? Can I call you Toni?" The excitement in her tone made me flinch.

"No." Daan answered for me.

"I didn't ask you, stupid. I asked him. So can I?" She looked at me excitedly. Inside my head, I was considering it.

_No._

"Aha..Sorry, but I'd prefer it if you called me Antonio."

She pouted and whined for the whole night. God, I wonder how her brother stands this. Way too clingy.

So in the end, I just went to sleep.


End file.
